


Lost Tapes

by celestialdelegate



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Atlas isn't Fontaine AU, General warnings for blood and typical Bioshock nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialdelegate/pseuds/celestialdelegate
Summary: You're in Rapture. Your story is unknown to us, much like the story of the man who speaks into the recorders you find. However, the little bit you do find out with a healthy mix of loneliness propels you to find more.
Relationships: Implied past tense Frank Fontaine / Atlas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Lost Tapes

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several months ago on a whim because I wanted to tell a story indirectly. Enjoy!

You find the first recorder deep within the abandoned orphanage, the top floor of the building in fact. The door seems to have been destroyed by some outside force, the metal warped and partially melted. As you step into the room, you see a less than impressive living situation. There's a dirty mattress shoved in the corner, the couch is busted, springs coming out of the old fabric, and signs of a fight. There's what you believe to be old, dried blood on the wall in a splatter. Not enough to be lethal.

Then you see them, a few voice recorders laying about the room among the empty candy bar wrappers and bags of chips.

You pick up the first one you find and hit play, sitting on the floor.

The sound of the voice recorder clicks on, there is a voice that comes through: Male, could be anywhere from 20 to in his 40s, but with a thick Irish accent. His voice is dazed, slightly slurred, but he sounds angry, if only subtly. As if he were gritting through his teeth as he speaks into the recorder.

"..Fontaine fucked me over."

There's a bitter sounding laugh, a pause.

".. I shoulda guessed it. He's a conman, after all. That's what I get for trustin' the bastard. Last thing I remember is tellin' Jack to go to Ryan's office. That last order, it was supposed to be the last.. And I guess for me it is."

He sighs with another pause. It goes on long enough that you almost think the tape has run out, until:

"..I'm locked up in the old orphanage. The 'Atlas hideout', he tossed me right back in here and sealed the door up. I've been tryin' to figure out how to get out, but the damned door is blocked from the outside, the windows are completely sealed. All I can hope is that someone might come and find me. If not, well.."

Another pause.

"..Can't say I don't deserve this."

______________________________________

The recorder clicks on and there's laughter, disbelieving and almost relieved sounding laughter.

"That son of a bitch did it.. If those tremors were anythin' to go by, Andrew Ryan is dead." 

More laughter, slowly trailing off. The sound of someone sitting heavily on a squeaking couch. 

"..I shouldn't be surprised. Boyo is made of the stuff of legends, Ryan wasn't exactly a tough target.. I guess I just never thought this would really happen. I always hoped, but it was one of those things you never expect 'til it happens."

Silence, eventually a sigh.

"..What next?"

_____________________________________

The recorder clicks on and there are rumbling footsteps, somewhat panicked breaths. The voice whispers:

"There's a goddamned big daddy out there.. he's got a sister with 'im. I know I'm no threat to the bastard but.."

The footsteps get closer, there's the sound of a little girl humming alongside the sound of the Big Daddy's low groan. 

".. Fuck it. Aye! Little girl! Little girl, can ye hear me?? Can that daddy of your's break down the door??"

There's a muffled conversation between the man and the girl, you can't quite make out the words, but the sound of a loud drill cuts through the air followed quickly by the squeal of metal and splintering wood. The man lets out a laugh and his footsteps quickly return to the recorder.

"It worked! It worked! I'm gettin' the hell out of this damned room and--"

The Big Daddy lets out a roar, there's hurried swearing and the recorder clicks off suddenly.

___________________________________

You don't find the next one for awhile, in what looks like an old, luxurious-looking office. Or, at least, it must have been at some point. It is dark, a large window looking out to the ocean and a strange-looking, decommissioned machine in front of it. Much of the room is destroyed, and there is what.. appears to have been a body at some point. A large one, certainly inhumanly large.

There are multiple of the little sister's weapons still inside it's torso, stabbed through bones and sitting upright in between ribs. It is a gruesome sight, indeed.

You find the first recording on the floor, lifting it you hit play and sit to listen.

"..Fontaine is dead."

A pause, you swear you hear a sniffle, the man clears his throat.

"..Jack must've gotten to him. Can't say I'm not proud of the kid, this took some bravery.. God, what had you become, Frank? You look like a monster.. I had no idea it ever got this bad.."

The man's voice cracks, you hear him swear under his breath. 

"..I don't know how long ago this was. Body was cold when I got here. Not exactly movin' quickly after that big daddy caught me with his drill. Knowin' my luck? Jack took the last bathysphere outta here. He's off, makin' a new life for himself. God I hope he's makin' it out there.. After what we've done, he deserves to be free."

A long pause, a sigh, and the recorder clicks off.

___________________________________

The next recorder you find is over near the strange machine in the room. As you approach, you see bloody smeared handprints and an empty first aid kit, also covered in blood. There's an empty bottle of alcohol sitting close by. You pick up the recorder, careful to not knock over the bottle.

It clicks on, and ragged breathing fills the air.

"Son of a bitch."

He sounds in pain, you hear the liquid in the alcohol bottle swish, then the glass clinking on the floor again.

"Remind me to never get into a fight with those damned big daddies again.. Not sure I'll ever walk properly on that leg. Fuck me.."

He takes a moment to breathe.

".. I'm at a loss of what to do. Jack and Tenenbaum are probably long gone or dead. I could go see if there's a bathysphere to the top around here somewhere, but who knows if I'll make it. ..Guess my best bet is holin' up in Mercury Suites until I get myself pulled together. If I'm lucky, someone's alive up there."

A pause.

".. If anyone is listenin' to these, I'm goin' to Fontaine's apartment. It's the penthouse, the elevator code is 5744. If you're in bad shape, there'll likely be supplies up there. God speed you."

The recording ends and you sigh, leaning your head back against the machine for a moment. The silence that fills the room is eerie, uncomfortable. You pass a glance to the remains of the body on the floor as you get up, making a face.

Onto the next place. That's all you can do.

___________________________________

As you walk through the abandoned area, you wonder what it must have been like when your Irish companion was here. There are bodies around, some burnt, some shot, some with their heads bashed in. All of them share a similar level of decay, and you're thankful they've at least stopped smelling at this point. 

You make it to Mercury Suites and it looks like hell. Scorched walls, signs of an obvious and large firefight. Despite that, the elevator is still functional. You punch in the code and step in, taking a deep breath as you do.

The elevator crawls up through the floors until it finally comes to a stop, opening to a rather beautiful and upkept Japanese garden. It is a shocking change to the destruction of the rest of Rapture and it gives you a sense of unease. You make your way in slowly.

You enter the penthouse and it almost looks untouched, aside from time wearing at it lightly. You spot a recorder settled into the bookshelf and walk over, picking it up and hitting play while you wander.

"Just like I thought, he left the place just like he kept it. Got enough food in here to last me until I die of old age if I wanted. Almost feel bad givin' the man shit when he was alive for all this.. He saves my ass yet again."

You tilt your head at that, but he doesn't elaborate, much to your displeasure. You take a seat on a plush couch, staring up at the decorated ceiling.

"I'll be stayin' here until my leg heals up. Hopin' there's a stash of bullets around here somewhere, but a part of me doesn't trust myself with 'em. I gotta keep my head above the water, gotta hope there's a bright side to all this, a light at the end of the tunnel."

He lets out a heavy sigh, sounding almost like he's going to say something else, but he doesn't and the recording ends.

You let your head fall back against the couch, sleep taking you quickly.

___________________________________

You find the next one after you wake up and head into the kitchen, it lies on the counter surrounded by empty bottles. Some of the bottles have dried white paint on the neck.

You wrinkle your nose but hit the play button regardless.

It starts up with faint music in the background. Jazz, you think, slightly upbeat and certainly dance-worthy. The man laughs, his voice slurring. 

"You are never going to believe this-- I'm not alone!"

You blink, glancing at the bottles again.

"Sander fucking Cohen is still here! The crazy bastard! Never thought I'd be so glad to see his painted face, but the bastard came stumbling out when I tried to check his apartment! I--"

You hear the door to the kitchen open, another man chuckling as footsteps approach. A different voice than the one you're used to speaks:

"Atlas, darling, come dance with me~" 

"Atlas.." You mumble to yourself, biting your lip.

Atlas laughs with who you assume is Sander Cohen, and the sound is beautiful. You can't help but smile, even as Atlas leans closer to the recorder again:

"Goodbye for now, friend. I hope you find some company of your own."

The recorder clicks off and you shake your head, letting out a soft laugh. You grab some of the food from the shelf, and make your way out of the kitchen.

___________________________________

You find the next one in the master suite bedroom, your eyebrows raising at the sight of the place. The bed is a mess, more of that dried paint in the bed, along with one of the pillows and on the headboard. You find the recording on the bedside table and you hesitate to sit on the bed, choosing a chair instead.

The recording begins and Atlas sounds groggy and tired, voice still rough from the edges of sleep clinging to it.

"Mmhg.. Remind me to never do that again.."

You laugh a little, shaking your head.

".. You know, I used to spend a lot of time in this bed. When we first came down here, when he first got this place.. This was my home too." 

You stop, blinking at what he says. You shift in your seat, straightening up to show that you're listening, despite no one being around to see.

".. I never told anyone any of this, but I suppose these tapes are a good place to start confessin'. Pretend like I'm still a catholic on the inside. .. Fontaine and I were more than just business partners, we were.. well, partners."

There's a pause, he sounds slightly pained when he continues.

"Never thought he'd fuck me over. Don't know why I thought I was any different.. I always thought we'd run this shithole together, or at the very least I'd convince him to ditch it and come back to the surface with me. Guess that's.. not in the cards."

A silence falls over the room and you exhale, leaning your head on your knees as you pull them close to your chest. 

".. Part of me doesn't want to go on. Part of me died with him, I guess. Haven't felt like myself since it happened.. Cohen says it's been almost two weeks now. Feels like an eternity and yesterday all at once. I'm fightin' against a tickin' clock, friend. Don't know if I'll win against myself."

His voice trails off and you feel a heaviness in your chest. The recording clicks off and you close your eyes, nuzzling into your knees.

___________________________________

The next one you find is on the shelves of the smoking lodge. You take it and plop onto one of the chairs, hitting play.

".. It's been a few months since the last time I picked up one of these."

You straighten up, frowning. 

"My leg is healed, it's time for me to.. make a choice, I guess. I've got options, at least. I could try and see if there's a bathysphere to the surface, I could give up and live out my days down here, or.. Or I can give up. After all, what are the chances I find a bathysphere? What are the chances I survive another year? Ten? What kind of life is left for someone like me down here? My face is plastered around Rapture. The only thing I could do is.. stay here and pray for the best. All the men who were once on my side are dead, the folks still alive are splicers or.. even worse, Sofia Lamb's crew. I'm in a real rough spot here, friend. Sure wish you were here."

You reach out your hand, placing it gently on the recorder as if you could reach back through time and comfort him. 

"... I don't know what to do. But, I.. guess I might as well check for the bathysphere. If I don't find one, I'll hide out nearby. Look for my recordings, friend. You've got my legacy in your hands."

The recording stops there and you sink into your chair, pulling the recorder close and holding it for a moment. 

You make sure to get one last night of good rest here, loading your pack full of food and first aid supplies before you head out, locking the penthouse up again. You hurry along, out of Mercury Suites and to where you arrived from.

___________________________________

You spare a glance at the bathysphere you took down here, wishing you could have given it to your trapped friend. A part of you hopes, prays even, that he made it out. However, a quick search of a hideout nearby confirms your fears that he didn't. You find the recorder on a desk in the hideout and you plop onto the floor, hitting the play button.

"..There are no bathyspheres down here. None. When I try to call one back from the surface, it tells me that I don't have clearance. I should have known.. I should have. Guess I still have a bit of that revolutionary spirit in me, ay friend?"

You nod though you know he can't see you. Part of you hopes he felt listened to, that he didn't feel completely alone in this place.

"..Where to next, hm? I guess the world is my oyster until somethin' offs me. Could go smash a statue of Ryan, could.. break into his suite and fuck shit up. Hah, that'd.. that'd really get him." 

He sighs and your chest aches.

".. Smuggler's Hideout it is. Might as well head somewhere familiar, right?"

The recording is off right after he speaks and you bite your lip, staying to fidget with the buttons for a moment. 

..There has to be more to this story, you tell yourself. He had to have made it. You nod to yourself and get up, looking at the recorder.

".. Smuggler's Hideout, Atlas. I know you made it."

___________________________________

You're almost to Smuggler's Hideout, but the tunnels along the way are flooded. Cold ocean water damn near to the ceiling in every direction that goes forward. It's with a deep breath that you begin your slow travel forward. The water is freezing, your breath catching in your chest. Still, you power on, using the railings on the ceiling to pull yourself along.

You squeeze through a door that's been propped open and continue through a cave-like area, finally finding some higher ground. You crawl onto a support beam, shivering. The entire area is flooded, boxes of ruined supplies floating along the surface undisturbed for years.

Up ahead, you see a non-flooded area, the glass that once sealed it off smashed open from.. who knows what. You swim over, carefully climbing up and through the window, crawling over a control panel of some kind. This is where you find a recorder, resting on the control panel. You almost cry from relief, shivering as you hit the play button.

Your relief is short-lived as the sound of sirens comes through the recording.

"..Smuggler's Bay is floodin'." Is how he starts. He sounds.. off. His voice shakes, teeth chattering like your's as you sit there. "I ran into a big daddy comin' through, he punched that drill right through the tube and water came right on in. I got caught up in it, the water started risin'.. And now I'm up here. I'm sittin' here, watchin' it rise, wonderin' if this is it."

You sigh, shoulders slumping. He seems to do the same.

"..This might be it, friend. If you got to this, I'm sorry to make ye go through all the trouble for nothin'. Even more sorry to strand you in here. Though, if ye made it this far, then.. maybe ye can make it out."

A lump forms in your throat and you try to push it down, his voice is hopeless and it brings you right down with him.

".. I'll try and swim out. There's a secret passage to Arcadia nearby. Fontaine built that just to piss Ryan off, y'know. Thought it'd be a real kick in the teeth to have a passage right to his precious lil forest. He didn't find out about it 'til Jack used it. Hah.."

You swallow, shaking your head and getting up, grabbing the recorder as you walk to a back path, staring at the water's surface. 

"If we ever meet, friend, I owe ye a hell of a drink. If I don't make it, I sure as hell hope you do."

The recording ends and you nod, teeth still chattering as you speak. ".. I'll make it, Atlas. You better have."

___________________________________

Arcadia is a paradise compared to the cold waters you just swam through. The plants have well overgrown, vines crawling up along walls and covering up windows. You find a place to hide and are about to start a small fire when you notice scorch marks on the floor: someone else has been here. 

You quickly light the fire and look around the dark area, your hope high. You spot it tucked in between a root and the wall. You almost burst into tears, a smile splitting your face. You take the recorder carefully, setting it besides yourself as you hit play.

His voice, however, is strained. Quiet.

"..I made it, and so did you, friend. Hopefully in better shape than me."

Your smile fades as you listen, warming yourself with the fire.

".. Piece of scrap metal caught me as I was swimmin' through. Tore me from shoulder to tailbone. Managed to get the last of my bandages together to slow the bleedin', but it - ah - it hurts somethin' fierce."

Slowly, you lean back, frowning. You take a quick glance around the area, noting no body, no bones, but there is blood on the floor and wall across from you. You can almost see the imprint of him, this person you don't know, you've never truly seen. The posters from the walls fill in the blanks and you try to imagine him here.

".. I have a lot of regrets, friend. I.. I've done some bad things. I was complicit in innocent people gettin' hurt, which means I'm as guilty as Fontaine or Ryan. So I have - hhah.. fuck.. - I have a favor to ask you."

You sit up at attention again, listening closely.

".. If you get out of here and back to the surface, find Jack for me. Jack Ryan - Or.. Or maybe Jack Wynand. He could be goin' by either. But ye find him, alright? He's got.. he's got blond hair, blue eyes, big kid.. But gentle. Looks like a damn angel.."

His voice drifts for a moment and your throat tightens, "Come on, Atlas.. You have to make it.."

As if he hears you, he lets out a weak laugh.

"..You.. you tell him I'm sorry, alright? You tell him that.. that Atlas is sorry.. That he deserves to be happy, that he deserves an apology.. I hope he's happy, wherever he ended up."

The recording goes quiet for entirely too long and you feel your stomach sink. It nearly jolts you out of your skin when he speaks again.

"I'm-- I'm going to.. I'm going to go for a walk. I've always loved this forest, s'beautiful here."

Another pause, and then:

"..Thank you. For listenin' to a sorry son of a bitch. You take care, friend. This is Atlas, signing off for the last time."

A few seconds of silence before the recording stops and a weight settles over the entire forest. You stare at the spot where he sat until your eyes fill to the brim with tears, making the scene a blur of colors. 

You cry into your soaked sleeve, chiding yourself for getting so attached to a voice in a few recordings you've found, but nothing stops the sobs from coming out. It isn't for another hour that you manage to pull yourself together, taking the recorder and pulling it close to your now dry chest.

".. I'll get to the surface, I'll find Jack and tell him.. I promise."


End file.
